So Come, You Stormy Seas
by lucacat4
Summary: Grey foam splashed high, stinging sea mist flying this way and that as the angry waves grappled amongst themselves and reached up to lick the sides of the eighteen-ton boat. Petty Officer Third Class Samuel Winchester grimaced and squinted against the driving rain, hands clasped loosely around the railing of the ship as if it were a lover's waist and not salty, sea-sprayed iron.
1. Chapter 1

Grey foam splashed high, stinging sea mist flying this way and that as the angry waves grappled amongst themselves and reached up to lick the sides of the eighteen-ton boat. Rippling faintly through the whistling wind came the faint but determined voices:

 _...Through surf and storm and howling gale,_

 _High shall our purpose be._

 _"Semper Paratus" is our guide…_

The man pulled the collar of his indigo suit up higher against his chin, grimacing and raising a hand in a twisted salute-turned-shield against the chilly spray that spattered his strong-jawed face.

"Hey!" The call rang out, strident and barking. "You've got ten seconds to get this sorted and organized, and you just wasted three! Get over here and do your job!"

Petty Officer Third Class Samuel Winchester turned and swiftly strode back from the ship railing, only the slightest tightening in his jaw betraying his agitation and distaste. Chief Petty Officer Nathan Walzer raised an eyebrow but said no more. Swarthy and handsome in a stern, no-nonsense sort of way, Officer Walzer had an unappreciable tendency to look down his large, aquiline nose and stare his subordinates into groveling and timid young boys, a far cry from the muscular chests and commanding manner that greeted most others.

The epitome of "would-rather-be-friendless-than-jobless," Walzer was a planner and a doer; hardworking and rigidly fair, insensitive to the hardships of others, and a perfectionist, he held others to unshakeable high standards and would not hesitate to put another lower-ranking man in his place. Unfortunately for Walzer, however, his quite-respectable 6'2'' frame could not quite bring him to a level eye-to-eye with Petty Officer Winchester, and no matter how much he expanded his chest or strained his spine, he was always forced to raise his own eyes to meet Winchester's. Walzer's dark brown orbs always brimmed with a special brand of hatred when they meet Winchester's cool hazel-blue.

"Yes, sir!" Winchester enunciated carefully, spitting the words out with carefully-contained venom. "Right away, sir." His upper lip twitched and then clamped down hard as if it wanted to curl in defiance, and then thought better of it. _Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Of course, sir. No, sir. Yes. No. Yes. No. No. No._

Only the thought of another man kept his angry words from escaping; the thought of another tall form, another set of corded arms that embraced him instead gesticulated wildly at him, another set of eyes that warmed when they fell on him instead of hardened. And another mouth, that joked and comforted and teased but never dropped the cold words that were so common in this chilly little life. He thought of another life, another family, and pressed on.

* * *

 **A/N: So...any thoughts on Ch. 1? If anyone is enjoying it, please let me know and I promise I'll finish this one up. Not sure how many chapters it'll end up being, my current guess is about 5 but really that's up in the air. At least 3, I can promise you that.**

 **If you have a moment to spare for a review or a PM, I would be super grateful and happy to hear your thoughts, good or bad!**

 **And as always, thank you for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

He guessed it was around four in the afternoon; an abandoned lunch, long since grown cold and dry, awaited him on the side table by his bed, and but the rattle of the dinner cart did not yet echo shrilly through the pristine, bustling hallways. The maroon faux-velvet pricked and poked the tender skin behind his knees like tiny needles, and he shifted in unease, tasting again in the mere sight of the wine-colored fabric the heady, coppery pungency of blood and suffering. A scent like no other, its sharp claws dug deeply into his mind, permeated his soul and scarred his spirit with gashes more sensitive than any he'd ever borne under the hunt, that had slipped through the indomitable yet not invincible embrace of his brother's love and protection.

Love. Protection. Comfort. Brother, father, mother, family, friend. Dean.

He wondered if that word would ever ring with the connotations it had held for so many years, a lifetime in another life. Pride grappled with humiliation, frustration, and self-disgust, an exquisite agony.

 _"That's my job, Sammy. You're my job, little brother. Keep you safe. 'Long's I'm around, nothing bad will ever happen to you."_

 _A seven-year-old's quavering voice: "But what about...THEN, Dean?"_

 _"Then?"_

 _"You know, when...when you're not here. When you're gone and I'm alone, like Mr. Ware was when his cat...left. And our class's goldfish. Ms. Rainer says everyone has a time. I don't want you to have a time, Dean. I don't want you to have a time, I don't." Tears rimmed the large brown eyes, and a fat droplet splashed down over the child's delicate nose. Lips quivering and tiny fists clenched, he stood stock still and upright, a miniature Atlas._

 _The world already weighing so heavily on those young, young shoulders._

 _But not as heavily as it pressed upon the fierce green eyes that flashed emerald fire._

 _Calloused fingers gripped his thin shoulders with a bruising grip, and his little body trembled. Dean's voice broke through the haze._

" _I'll always be here for you, Sammy. No matter where you are and no matter where I am, I'll still be at your back." A finger stabbed once, twice against the small chest. "You hearing me, Sammy? We clear? I'm your brother, and I'll always be here for you. That'll never change, I swear to you."_

" _Pinky promise? On the 'pala?"_

 _Two pinkies locked tightly in the vehement bond of a youthful pledge. But the look in Dean's eyes was anything but immature._

" _For sure, kiddo. In blood. I swear to you on my life and blood that you'll always have me to come back to. There will always be a place in my heart for you."_

 _Someone sniffed, and a tissue appeared as if by magic in front of Sam's face._

 _"Now shuddup and go to sleep, Sammy. 'Nough of the girly-girl stuff, ok?"_

Sam shook himself, shivered in a sudden chill. _'Always a place in my heart for you,'_ huh? That evidently didn't extend for his life, though. Memories washed over him again, this time sharp and piercing in their recent, undimmed agony.

 _The blood soaked everything, vermillion lakes filling the upholstery, the towels, the footwell, seemingly everything but Dean's veins. Crimson splashes and dots slashed across pale skin and lifeless limbs, dripped carelessly like watercolor from an exuberantly-yielded paintbrush. Dean's head was dead weight in his lap, a jolting mass that dipped up and down in rhythm against the potholes and ditches of some backcountry road, he couldn't even remember where._

 _John's tight, angular face was tense and lined against his jutting chin and sallow cheeks, lips pressed sharply together and eyes dark, the Grim Reaper manifested. Sam couldn't stop the wet chuckle that clawed its way up his gasping throat, and he tipped his head back against the seat in weary disbelief._

" _Son? Boy, you with me? Sam?"_

 _It was too funny, really, it was. Seriously, maybe they were cursed; a patchwork family falling apart at the broken seams. A ghost for a mom, the Grim Reaper his father, a misshapen failure at a soldier for a son. Not to mention his brother, who was doing a very fair impression of a corpse._

" _Son?"_

 _Yes? Or, excuse me, sir. Sir! Barked at his drill sergeant of a father. What can I do for you, sir? Of course, sir, anything, sir. Groveling like a fox caught in a hunter's trap; but this trap, this hunt, was a lifetime. The hunt was his life, and the life was his hunt. The question remained: who was in fact the hunter, and who was the prey? All too often, the line blurred into indistinguishable shades of grey._

 _Tucking his brother into bed hours later, and listening to the clunk of a bottle on a cheap table, the generous splash of his father's fourth-fifth?-serving of whiskey, Sam felt something in him snap._

 _He'd spent too long dancing with death. He was done being the underdog, the prey, the inferior. He drew himself up, pulled in a deep breath. Who made the rules around here, anyway? Time to meet his maker, to step up to the plate, to draw back his bow and let fly. Time to shoot back, to run forward, not back, to step into the light and out of the dark. Glory, not shame; respect, not hate. Gratitude, not distrust._

 _You want a soldier, Dad? You wanted a soldier, Dad, not a son. A soldier, not a son._

 _Well, congratulations-now, you've got one._


End file.
